Stoke the flame
by DuPon
Summary: Tris is a broken slave girl and four is a wealthy land owner. When Tris gets sold from her previous master, how will she adjust to this new life? Strong T for strong language.
1. Vote Now!

So this is a new story that I started because I read a story on Wattpad by Slushie360 called dying flames. Unfortunately Slushie decided that they didn't want to write anymore for undisclosed reasons and I must respect their wishes and not spam them begging to write again like my fingers ache to do. Basically the story was about Tris being a slave girl and four rescues her from Peter Hayes, her "master". I don't know what you guys want. What I mean by want is the level of graphic-ness you guys want. I don't want y'all in tears because of abuse. I will **NOT** do rape, don't even ask. I've gotten request on previous accounts on Wattpad. I will keep it below M because I don't do sex scenes. And yes I said sex don't get your panties in a twist. I will give everyone three days. It's Monday right now. The first chapter will come out on Friday. How graphic the story is will be up to you guys. Please leave votes in the review area. Again, the level of abuse in my other story is not the highest level, but I want most people to be able to read it so that's a medium level because I go into full description about he abuse of Marcus. Another example is that it already happened. I could start out by saying she would be sold today and she could cover up the scars from beatings or something like that. I honestly hope you guys choose the already happened because as much as it hurts you guys to read it, we authors have to come up with this stuff and it's not the "Yes I just put a character in so much pain they passed out!!!" Happy feeling. So whatever you guys want. Rate a 1 for light abuse. 2 for medium. And 3 for high abuse. The description comes into play do with the levels respectively. Remember: **3 days.**

**Love y'all! **

**-DuPon**


	2. Chapter 1

**/ bit of pg13 swearing. Wouldn't be realistic without it **

Peter stands behind me as I whimper in pain. He has kicked me about 40 times in the same please right on the back of my knee. I can't walk at all.

This is my life now. I make Leter three meals a day and eat next to nothing, and what do I get in return? Beat. I am beat every single day of my living hell because there is almost always something wrong.

The lamb was cooked for 3 seconds too long, or too many strands of my hair were hanging over my shoulder. Tons more bullshit where that came from.

He kicks me hard in the knee and he pain is too much for me to handle. I pass out cold and he just walks away, but soon comes back with boiling water.

I feel a few drops on my face and immediately know what is going to happen. My body usually does this when I am near death. My adrenaline rush comes and I swerve just out of the way of the boiling water as it crashes down on the floor beside me, splashing me with the searing drops of fire. Peter screams.

"Little Bitch! You suck! I wish you never were sold to me. I hate you!" And he goes on to say very degrading term and word known to mankind.

The mental and physical abuse has gotten to me. I don't speak in fear of being punished for my "ugly soprano" as Peter calls it. Apparently I sound like a cow giving birth in the middle of summer. At least the cow has it better than me. I'm treated worse than the cow.

Peter comes back with one last thing. A beer. This is bad. Peter guzzles the beer in multiple gulps and then breaks the bottom on the wall, creating a jagged edge on the bottle. Sharp and deadly.

I cower away in fear. He is drunk and reckless. The edge of the bottle clips my face as he take a hard swing toward my neck. I feel blood move down my face as the cut bleeds crimson.

"Master! The auction tomorrow! Surely you want my bitchy self to be sold off so you won't have to deal with me anymore!" I say, just loud enough to wriggle its way into his thoughts.

"I suppose your right." He says and motions for me to clean up in the tiny storage closet upstairs. My "room".

I use disinfectant to clean the cut and I wipe down neosporin on it to heal the cut faster. There will always be a scar.

The next day:

I wake up all cramped from sleeping in the closet even though I've been sleeping there my whole life. The whole back of my knee is black and It feels like the whole knee is being sawed in half.

I get up and dress in my clothes that are too small and show of my ribs and no stomach. I don't understand how girls by for this type of body. Malnourished and sickly pale? A lifestyle? No thanks, but unfortunately I have to.

Peter slaps me hard for being late by about a a quarter of a minute late downstairs. I just run the side of my face for a second.

We arrive at the action place and they give me a number on a piece of paper that read _slut718. Slut? I have never had a boyfriend or even kissed anyone. The unfriendly ladies in the back put my hair in a ponytail and shoved me onto the action platform. Then I see them. The eyes of hope. _

/ **Cliffhanger sorry I'm falling asleep waiting for a parent to get back from a trip and can't keep my eyes open. It's 1 am here BTW \**


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